Let There Be
by itsjustsilver
Summary: Lord Voldemort receives some information. Female Harry Potter / Tom Riddle. Eventual love


"My Lord, my Lord…"

The kneeling man was sweating, whether from the heat, or fear, or both, it was unclear. The dungeons were stiflingly warm. Braziers, filled with everlasting fire, lined the length of it along both walls. Their enchanted flames had been burning for close to twenty years now and would go out only when their caster died.

Their caster was Lord Voldemort, the Dark Lord, and he could not die.

He stood over the groveling man, who was now in addition to sweating, also shivering.

The man spoke again. "My Lord…Master, I have done it… I have done it…" There was an undercurrent of base triumph in his choking voice, as if he was a dog that had been told to fetch and had fetched.

"Out with it Wormtail," said Lord Voldemort. He twirled his wand with anticipation. "And if your information is once again useless…" The threat was left unfinished, but its effect could not have been greater.

"I have the Potters, my Lord," said Wormtail, pushing his lower body into the ground, making it clear to everyone watching just how he'd earned that demeaning nickname. He raised his head to catch the greedy expression on his Lord's face.

"Have you?" The hand playing with the wand stilled. "If what you say is true, then you will be greatly rewarded…" The neck bowed. "Tell me where they are."

Wormtail swallowed. He paused. His throat bobbed. "At Godric's Hollow…," he croaked. He looked like he was going to say something else. His hands shook.

"Fool. I knew that." The acerbic tones of Lord Voldemort were seeped in disappointment. "Are you going to tell me next that the blood-traitor Black is their Secret Keeper? That Albus Dumbledore hides them?" He raised his wand. "Cru-"

"_Seven Peverell Lane_," screeched Wormtail, flinging an arm out to shield himself. "At Godric's Hollow. They made me Secret Keeper."

One of the watching Death Eaters made an involuntary movement. It was small; just a tiny twitch in one shoulder, but it didn't go unnoticed by the Dark Lord.

"…that I am loyal only to you, Master, and I came here at once…" Wormtail was still speaking. He'd abandoned reticence in favour of now regurgitating everything he knew with a haste born of fear.

"_Seven_…" whispered the Dark Lord. His head was bowed as if in prayer, but a sinister smile was beginning to stretch his face. "How appropriate…"

"We are ready to leave at once, my Lord." The voice issued from one of the hooded figures in the circle, who spoke for his fellows. There were accompanying nods and murmurs.

"No. This is something I must do alone. Await my return." And the tall figure swept off his dais and made to leave the long dungeons without further comment.

One of the Death Eaters left the circle, almost throwing himself in his path. "My Lord." His voice was low and steady, and only his movements gave away his agitation. "If I can intercede once again on behalf of the mudblood-"

Lord Voldemort barely checked his pace. "You will have your prize, Severus," he said. His voice echoed faintly in the gloom. The heavy iron doors closed after him.

* * *

The information was good. His follower had not disappointed him.

Many times, Lord Voldemort had prowled about Godric's Hollow, looking for a way around the Fidelius charm, and many times he had been repulsed. He had known the location of their refuge would be here, sentimental fool that Dumbledore was, but the charm had held. Lord Voldemort had been unable to so much as see the outline of the house.

But not now.

The whole house burst into form in front of him, as though heaved up from the earth. The brick walls and tiled roof and paned windows and herb garden all bounced and shuddered and swelled and became visible.

None of its inhabitants were aware of what was taking place. A man pottered around in the kitchen. A light in an upstairs room flicked off. Music warbled. Lord Voldemort walked through the half-open gate, up the rustic stone pathway, and to the doorstep.

He raised his wand to check for protection spells. The door was unwarded. That gave him pause. Surely it couldn't be this easy? Was this a trap? Perhaps Dumbledore lay in wait, him and his infernal squawking bird both.

Perhaps. But the Dark Lord was in the mood for murder, and his bloody-minded impulses, once warmed, could only be satisfied one way. The door opened. The Dark Lord stepped into the threshold.

"…_finally _asleep, I had to rock her for twenty minutes…" A young woman's voice.

Lord Voldemort cast a spell. It rippled through the walls and reported that there were three in the house.

The music was abruptly lowered. His spell had been felt.

"Who's there? Sirius? Is that you?" A young man's voice.

Lord Voldemort proceeded calmly down the hallway. He was met at the staircase by the investigating couple, who had just come from the kitchen on the other side. The smell of cooking stuck to them.

They didn't scream. Their eyes darted between him and the staircase. They were wandless; completely and totally defenseless.

"Go," said the young man, taking his wife by the upper arm and all but shoving her towards the stairs. "Get Hera. I'll hold him off."

She clung on to him, white with terror. "No, James, no!"

Lord Voldemort raised his wand. "Avada Kedavra." James Potter toppled.

So much for holding him off.

Then the young woman went, flying up the stairs like her life depended on it. It didn't- not if she was going to be reasonable.

Lord Voldemort followed her. He heard her banging around, probably barricading herself in like a muggle. He walked towards the sounds like a predator drawn to the smell of blood.

The door to the nursery was shut. He blasted it open.

There she was, standing defiantly in the middle of the room with his quarry in her arms, embracing it as though hoping to die together.

But when she saw him, she dropped the child into the cot behind her and flung one arm out towards him.

He could see why Severus favoured this one. She had the presence and indomitable spirit lacking in most, even in his puffed-up pureblood supporters. If her child was anything like her, then prophecy or not, it would need to be put away.

"Move aside, girl," he sneered.

"Please," she said, "Not Hera." Her fingers were on the rail of the cot. She was hiding his view of the child.

"I said move aside."

Tears fell from her face. "Not Hera." Her voice was becoming distorted with grief. "Not Hera! Please, kill me instead, please, not my child…"

Lord Voldemort was beginning to lose patience. "This is my last warning. Stand aside, girl!"

It would not be a good idea to let her live. He highly doubted Severus could get her under control. And on principal he never left survivors. He liked to slaughter his foes and their families down to the last generation. It was just much easier that way. No loose ends.

The wand rose and fell. Green flashed. She toppled like a cut flower, exposing her child to him.

The prophesied child. It was standing, gripping the bars of its cot for support. It smiled at him as he approached and tried to peer under his hood.

He lifted his wand and positioned it a mere few inches from the child's face. It extended a chubby hand to try to catch it. It giggled. Lord Voldemort frowned.

"Avada Kedavra."

Pain. Pain beyond pain.

The spell flashed all around the room and in his body.

It was rending him. He was tearing, breaking, sundered.

The pain stretched to, and then beyond any incontrovertible limits, and Lord Voldemort would have screamed if he'd had a mouth to scream with, would have flailed if he'd had a body to flail with.

There was pain. And then there was sudden darkness.

* * *

So this was death.


End file.
